Mason didn’t bother revealing that the infected were hunting for the last remnants of those who had worked at The Farm. Locke had surely been enemy number one, but with him dead, Mason and Brooke were moving up the infected’s Most Wanted list.
He thought for a moment, letting the pieces move around until he saw how they might align. When they did, his lips turned up in a satisfied smile.
“Sheriff, I think you may be a genius.”
McCabe tipped his head. “I can’t say I’ve ever heard that one before.”
“Well you are, because this is one of those rare occasions when two problems are actually better than one.”
Willis and Toshiro both overheard the conversation and moved closer.
“When the hell are two problems ever better than one?” scoffed Toshiro.
“How about when they’re twin sisters?” Willis said, using his hands to indicate women with large breasts.
“I’m serious,” he continued. “All of us want to take down Laroche, not to mention clear out the motel, but not at the cost of dying in the process.”
“I appreciate your sentiment,” Mason said, patting him on the shoulder. He glanced over at Willis and smiled. “Actually, I appreciate both of your sentiments. But I’m not asking you to go on a suicide mission.”
“No? What do you call it?”
“I call it an opportunity.” He turned to McCabe. “I think I may have a way to get rid of Laroche and the infected in one fell swoop. Best of all, it only requires a handful of your men.”
McCabe squinted. “If you can take out both armies with a handful of men, I’ll make sure folks around here build a statue of you.”
“You do that. Just make sure they don’t forget about my dog.”
Mason’s plan relied heavily on reaction, something that was impossible to accurately predict. Slap someone in the face, and they might knock your block off, turn the other cheek, or run crying for their mother. In this case, he needed everyone to react in a way that they believed to be in their best interest. Only time would tell if that’s what would actually happen.
He sat in the cab of the tractor trailer, Beebie riding shotgun with an MK15 sniper rifle across his lap. Bowie lay asleep on the seat between them, offering the occasional snort or scratch. They had been waiting for more than an hour, watching the motel at the end of the street. Two dozen vehicles sat parked out front, trucks, cars, even a couple of motorcycles. Infected men moved around the area, some standing guard while others brought in supplies they had salvaged from nearby homes and businesses.
Beebie pointed to the enormous man giving orders to the others.
“He’s the one in charge.”
Mason recognized the giant as being the general he had locked eyes with at The Farm. He was more beast than human, a full head taller than the other men with an air of savageness surrounding him. What was most distinctive, however, was not his size, but his oddly shaped head. Somehow the virus had mutated his skeletal structure, adding a sagittal crest along the midline of his skull, a feature that was normally predominant in gorillas and orangutans.
When it was clear that nearly all of the infected had returned to the motel for the evening, Mason turned to Beebie and said, “It’s time.”
Beebie rolled down his window and braced the MK15s twenty-nine-inch barrel on the side-view mirror. The weapon weighed twenty-seven pounds and felt like something that should be attached to a gunner’s mount.
“Let’s do it.”
Mason turned and knocked twice on the back wall of the cab, as if hoping it might bring good luck. When he did, Bowie jerked upright, looking left and right. When he realized there was nothing to see, he settled back onto his belly and yawned with a loud “hhuuaahh.”
Mason started the engine and put the truck into gear, slowly pulling away from the curb.
“Remember what I said. Keep your shots over their heads.”
“You do realize I don’t need a sniper rifle to miss them.”
“No, but killing them would only hurt the mission.”
With the headlights turned out, Mason guided the rig down the dark street. As he drew closer to the motel, the infected men standing out front began to take notice. Several pointed, and others raised their weapons. Mason stomped the accelerator, and the truck let out a throaty growl as it began picking up speed.
As they barreled past the motel, Beebie lowered his cheek to the stock of the rifle and began shooting out the windows.
Men dove for cover as others scrambled to return fire. Too late, the truck was already speeding away on the dark stretch of road. Mason watched in his mirror as the general and his men piled into their vehicles to give chase. Within seconds, he saw headlights turning out of the motel parking lot.
Beebie saw them too. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“As long as we can keep a little distance, we should make it.”
Mason had planned the entire route to take advantage of empty roads and wide turns, allowing him to briefly get out of sight without sacrificing speed. Each time the infected drew close, he took another turn, keeping them from boxing him in. Despite his best efforts, however, the armada of infected were all but upon him by the time he swung the big rig onto Godwin Blvd.
Beebie leaned his head out the window.
“Fifty yards and closing!”
Mason pointed to the intersection ahead.
“We’re almost there.”
One of the pursuing vehicles tried to come alongside the trailer, and Mason swerved to force him back. As he did, Beebie and Bowie both toppled from one side of the cab to the other. Of the two, Bowie seemed to be the only one enjoying the ride.
Pop! One of the rear tires burst as gunshots sounded from behind them.
“We’re not going to get far without tires!” shouted Beebie.
Mason took the next turn a little faster than he should have, and the truck teetered dangerously to one side. As it did, one of the cars tried to cut to the outside and paid dearly for it, the tractor trailer’s back end swinging wide to crash into the driver’s side door.
Mason slowed to keep from losing control as he followed a tight curve around to the left. The men in the car directly behind him opened fire once again, and another tire blew, sending a thick flap of steel-belted rubber flying up behind the rig.
With the pursuit now slowing due to winding roads and blown tires, the infected managed to pull two abreast behind the trailer. Men leaned out the passenger-side windows, firing handguns. Another tire blew, and then another. Still, the truck slogged on.
When the jail finally came into view, Mason breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
“Get ready,” he said, his eyes cutting over to Beebie.
Beebie pulled the handle on the door and pushed it open a few inches.
“Say when.”
As they approached a thick patch of trees, Mason shouted, “Now!”
Beebie shoved the door open and leaped away from the truck with the sniper rifle clutched to his chest. He landed in a thick pile of pine needles, tumbled once, and rolled to his feet.
Bowie let out a loud woof as Beebie disappeared into the woods.
“He’s got his job, we’ve got ours.”
As the tractor trailer sped toward the gate, the guards had only a few seconds to decide who was friend and who was foe. Mason was confident that Laroche would have briefed them that a valuable truck might be arriving. Hopefully, that would leave them reluctant to shoot it to pieces.
He pulled a chain hanging to his left, and the truck’s horn sounded with a long blaring whine. The signal seemed to tip the scales in his favor, and instead of shooting out the windshield, the guards began firing on the pursuing vehicles. A few rushed forward to try and open the gate but quickly abandoned the idea when they realized there wouldn’t be enough time to get it closed before the enemy arrived.
At the sound of gunfire, more of Laroche’s men flooded out from the jail. Everyone seemed confident that the
y could repel any attack from the safety of their fenced compound. What they didn’t count on was Mason flooring the gas pedal to send the tractor trailer crashing through the front gate. Men frantically dove out of the way, confused and distraught by the sudden and complete breach of their perimeter.
Mason continued ahead until he was parked directly in front of the jail’s main entrance. As soon as the truck stopped, he rolled out and hurried around to the back of the rig. Bowie shot out behind him, barking with excitement. Mason released the latching lever and swung open the heavy cargo doors. McCabe, Willis, Toshiro, and three other militiamen poured out with shiny new weapons in hand.
Laroche’s guards were so busy battling the infected overrunning the front gate that they didn’t even see the enemy unloading from within.
Hoping to get inside the jail without being drawn into the battle, Mason whistled for Bowie and hurried toward the main entrance. As he reached for the handle, the door suddenly burst open, and Farley rushed out with a rifle in hand.
Before either man could react, a deep boom sounded in the distance. An instant later, the fat man’s chest exploded in a splash of blood.
Beebie.
Mason and Bowie hopped over the body and pressed ahead into the waiting room, McCabe and his men following close behind. The room was empty, but on the other side of the plexiglass, the armorer scrambled to unlock racks of rifles as men stood waiting. At the sight of Mason and the others, they began shouting and pointing.
Mason turned to Willis. “Blow it.”
Willis took aim with an AA-12 and peppered each of the plexiglass’s four support points with buckshot. Toshiro hurried forward to grab the edge of the barrier and yank it down. As soon as it was clear, McCabe and Willis opened fire, killing half a dozen of Laroche’s men before the rest escaped back into the jail.
When the shooting subsided, Bowie sprang over the counter. Mason half dove, half rolled after him, and together, they quickly assessed the fallen men. A few lay curled up, moaning, but none remained a threat. Mason rushed to the armorer’s door and waited, his hand resting on its handle. When McCabe and his men had lined up behind him, he inched it open and peered into the corridor beyond.
The jail was in complete chaos. Men rushed around, shirts off, frantically loading weapons as they tried to figure out a way to mount some kind of defense after being violently pulled from sleep.
Mason advanced through the door, firing at only those who posed a threat. McCabe and his men were not so selective. Men fell. Others threw up their arms in surrender only to discover that the time for mercy had passed. One man managed to get hands on Mason by leaping out from an open doorway. They struggled briefly before the man’s legs were pulled out from under him as Bowie latched onto his ankle. The man shrieked and kicked wildly, but escaping the wolfhound’s bite proved all but impossible. Before Bowie could finish him, Toshiro stepped forward and shot the man in the head.
Continuing along the corridor, they came upon a large group of men hiding behind tables in the cafeteria. Two armed guards poked their rifles around and prepared to open fire. Rather than fighting their way past them, Mason turned and led McCabe and his men down an adjoining hallway. While he had no aversion to killing the men, he also understood that engaging in a firefight would give Laroche time to put together a defense, or worse, to hurt Brooke. The plan was straightforward if not quite simple, push in as quickly as possible, rescue Brooke and the other women, capture or kill Laroche, and escape out the back before the infected tore everyone to pieces.
A young man with shoulder-length blonde hair and a strong athletic build leaped out from a doorway to the right, Ka-Bar in hand. Mason whipped the M4 around and put a quick three-round burst into the man’s chest. He stuttered briefly and then collapsed, inadvertently spearing himself with the knife as he fell. A second man appeared from around the corner but was immediately cut down by McCabe, his silenced MP7 giving off a short pfffttt sound.
A third man charged up from behind them, screaming as he alternated firing two shiny revolvers like Josey Wales running down vengeful Indians. Toshiro cried out and fell to one knee as a bullet pierced his left thigh. A second round grazed McCabe’s ear, and a third barely missed Bowie. Before Wales could squeeze off another shot, Willis unleashed a burst from the AA-12. Hundreds of buckshot pellets ripped through the man, sending a massive shower of blood spraying out behind him.
McCabe hurried over and helped Toshiro to his feet.
“You okay, son?”
Toshiro leaned to one side, putting his weight on the uninjured leg.
“I’m good, let’s go!”
Mason turned and continued ahead. A short hallway led them to the cell block in which the women were housed. Mason rushed to the cell of the woman he had met previously and swung the door open.
Carol sat on the edge of her bunk, fully dressed this time.
“You,” she said, unable to hide her surprise. “You came back.”
“Of course, I did.” He waved her over. “Now help me get the rest of these doors open.”
Carol hurried out, and with the help of McCabe and the others began unlocking the cells. Women poured out, and within a minute, two dozen crowded the hallway. Some looked like prisoners of war, beaten and run down. Others had managed to keep their spirit, their eyes still filled with rage and perhaps even a little hope.
Mason turned to McCabe. “Your part’s done. Get them out of here.”
“You sure? This thing ain’t over.”
“Stick to the plan. Go!”
McCabe patted him on the back.
“I’ll make sure they build that statue.”
Mason grinned. “You do that.”
McCabe turned and motioned to his men.
“Back the way we came, move!”
As the women began channeling out, Willis turned and held the AA-12 out to Mason.
“In case you come across a locked door.”
Mason nodded his thanks and took the weapon, slipping his M4 across his back. The AA-12 was a true technological marvel, capable of emptying its entire 20-shell drum in four seconds with only ten percent of the recoil of a conventional shotgun. When it came to close quarters combat, there were few weapons that could top its raw firepower.
With the women now free and on their way to safety, Mason hurried toward Laroche’s quarters. Bowie bounded alongside him, but there was little left to see. Most of the prison staff had either entered the battle out front or found an escape hatch.
It wasn’t until Mason turned the final corner that he encountered trouble. Laroche’s bodyguards knelt outside the warden’s door, pistols raised. Instincts were all that saved him as the two men opened fire. Mason dove back around the corner, tackling Bowie in the process. Chips of concrete spit from the wall as bullets ripped away at it.
Mason rolled off Bowie, and the wolfhound sat up with an excited look on his face. He let out a playful woof, woof, as if challenging his master to another wrestling match.
“Easy, boy, easy,” he said, trying to calm the dog. There was no telling if Bowie really understood the danger they were in, and he didn’t want him accidentally running out into the line of fire.
Bowie butted his head against Mason a couple of times, as if to say, “Ah, come on. Let’s go again.” When Mason didn’t engage, the dog slowly settled onto his belly with an indignant huff.
Mason scooted closer to the corner and listened. The men had stopped firing but were no doubt ready to riddle him with bullets should he show himself.
Remaining behind protective cover, Mason hollered, “If you want to live, slide your weapons this way and put your hands into the air.”
Neither man replied.
Mason considered his next move carefully. Engaging in a firefight was always a roll of the dice, and anyone who said otherwise had never had to poke their head out of a foxhole. He looked down at the AA-12, silently lamenting that Willis hadn’t passed him a CornerShot instead.
Oh well, h
e thought, sometimes, you have to make do.
Mason blindly poked the AA-12 around the corner and held the trigger down for two full seconds, letting the gun rock back and forth as a curtain of buckshot flew downrange. When the gun finally quieted, the only sounds were those of deep agonizing groans.
He took a quick peek to confirm that the shotgun had done its job.
It had and then some.
Both men lay on their backs, clutching legs half blown off as blood burped out onto the cement floor. The wounds reminded Mason of those caused by land mines, horrific in every sense of the word.
Before he could stop him, Bowie charged ahead, tearing into the men. With the AA-12 now empty, Mason tossed it aside and hurried after him, sliding the M4 from his shoulder. The men were already in such poor shape that it was over before he arrived. If anything, Bowie had done them a favor.
Standing to one side of Laroche’s door, Mason turned the knob and pushed it inward.
“Mason!” It was Brooke’s voice, and she was clearly in trouble.
He chanced a quick peek into the room.
Laroche sat on the bed, wearing a white bath robe and nothing else. His back rested against the headboard, and Brooke lay in front of him with a knife pressed to her throat.
“Marshal Raines, please do come in.”
Mason scanned the room. No one was in hiding.
He stepped inside and gently kicked the door shut behind him and Bowie.
“The compound’s under attack. If you want to live, let her go, and find your way out. I won’t try and stop you.” Even as he said the words, he knew them to be untrue. He had given his word to Caruso that Laroche would pay for what had happened to poor Ella.
“You can understand why I might not trust you,” Laroche said with a thin smile. “Now, place your weapons on the floor.”
Mason had expected as much. Without arguing the point, he placed his M4 on the floor by his feet. A rifle was not going to help him get out of his current predicament anyway.
The Survivalist (Solemn Duty) Page 24
